


First Wild Promise

by CloudAtlas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Friendship, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7089352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and beauty in the world. -- F. Scott Fitzgerald</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Wherein Clint sees Natasha again after two months and also meets James Barnes. One is more attractive than he remembered, the other is more attractive than he realised. Life is hard. </p><p>A little sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620400">All Under Heaven</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Wild Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and only just decided to tidy it up to post. Thank you to **inkvoices** for the most recent beta, but also **scribblemyname** for the original beta from a year ago.

Clint debates texting someone, just to feel like less of a loser loitering at the entrance to the Grand Central Station subway. But everyone he’d normally pester is either at work or abroad and he needs someone to talk to him _now_ dammit.

Clint might be a little nervous. But he feels he has good reason to, after all he’s meeting –

“Hey, Barton,” comes a voice from behind him and he whirls to find Natasha Romanova smiling at him.

Yep. Natasha Romanova.

The thing Clint has found about his line of work is that seeing people in casual, non-work situations, rather than when they’re toting heavy camera equipment around Thailand in ninety-degree heat, is actually rather jarring. People in his line of work spend most of their professional lives wearing cotton pants and walking boots, occasionally showering sporadically, and (if they’re guys) growing terrible beards when it’s really tough. In contrast, casual Clint looks like a guy who could work at a music store. Casual Kate looks like a rich New York college student.

Casual Natasha Romanova, it turns out, looks like she could work for a fashion magazine despite the fact that she’s simply wearing jeans and a shirt. He is so screwed.

“Hi,” he says faintly, trying in vain to think of something better to say and failing. Should he go in for a hug? He hasn’t seen her in almost two months, but after living in each other’s pockets for six that feels like a long time. He settles for a dorky wave and immediately wants to slap himself.

Natasha smirks at him, because she’s wearing lipstick and apparently likes watching him suffer.

“Clint, James Barnes,” she says, gesturing to the man Clint only now notices is standing slightly behind her. “James, Clint Barton.”

Clint cannot believe he forgot James Barnes would be here. _James Barnes_.

For the record, casual James Barnes looks like he’s one step away from being a rock star.

“Hi.”

James Barnes smiles disarmingly and Clint is forcibly reminded of the three weeks when he was fifteen when he was sort of horrendously obsessed with his next door neighbour Sam Wilson. Of course James Barnes would be hot. Of course _Natasha’s friends_ would be hot. _Of course_.

“Hi,” Clint replies inanely, because apparently that’s as much as he can manage. He sticks out his hand to shake, realising too late that he’s left handed and… well, James doesn’t have a left hand any more.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, snatching his hand away to rub at the back of his neck.

James shrugs, slightly lopsided. “Don’t worry,” he says, and Clint can’t be sure but he thinks James’ eyes flicker over towards his hearing aids briefly. “It’s nice to meet you, man. Nat was telling me how awesome your time in China was. I’ve seen some of her shots and they’re amazing. It looks like a brilliant place to film.”

“Yeah, it was pretty great.”

 _Oh god,_ he thinks. _Kill me now_.

“Don’t worry about him,” Natasha butts in smoothly, a smile in her voice. Clint looks back at her, but she’s talking to James. “Clint’s terrible at first impressions.”

He can’t even refute that.

“Anyway,” she continues, “it’s wonderful to see you.”

She smiles wide, stepping in for the hug Clint was debating earlier, and suddenly he finds himself pressed against her. And, wow, is that distracting.

He’s met hot people before; he should be _better at this_.

“Yeah, you too,” he manages and when she lets go he forcibly pulls himself into his ‘regular guy meeting friends’ headspace. Because that would be better for everyone involved right now.

They chat about photography and their respective work as they head towards Central Park, Clint managing to hold a normal conversation while not getting too fixated on the way Natasha's shirt occasionally reveals a strip of skin at her hip when she lifts her arm high enough. Kate would be proud of him.

Actually, no she wouldn’t. She’d be laughing at him while embarrassing him to the best of her ability. But that’s sort of the same thing, for her.

“…and man,” James says as they settle with coffees in a little outside café, “that photo of the sparrow you have? The one at sunrise and you can see every individual feather in its wings? Amazing. Though to be fair, I think my favourite of yours is that mountain-scape. Sort of like Ansel Adams, but more dangerous somehow. And the _space._ Dude, I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

If he’s honest, Clint never really imagined that James Barnes could be a fan of _his_.

“Wow,” Clint says, taken aback. He looks over at Natasha and she’s smiling at him, at James, at _everything_ , like she was sure all along that they’d get on. “Thanks man. I gotta say, those Siberian cranes of yours? I have a print of it in my front room. The composition makes me cry. Kate makes fun of me but Kate loves your work for that PBS documentary on seals so she hasn’t got a leg to stand on.”

“Yeah?” James grins big and takes a gulp of coffee. “Kate is Kate Bishop right?” Clint nods. “Yeah. Nat knows her stuff better than me, but I saw some of her work for NatGeo – bustards in Kenya, you worked on that too right? Great footage. Nat likes her photos.”

“Yeah?” Clint says, turning to Natasha who has a small, indecipherable smile on her face.

“Yeah,” she replies. “The hoopoe is wonderful.”

Clint grins. Women in their industry are as distressingly few as they are in many industries worldwide and Kate had known who Natasha was as soon as Clint had told her that they would be working together. He can’t wait to tell her that Natasha Romanova loves her hoopoe photo.  She’d been practically vibrating with glee after she took it.

Clint can’t wait to talk to Kate generally. She’s coming back in three weeks’ time; she finally managed to get her jaguars and as a congrats-and-welcome-back-to-the-land-of-hot-showers present Clint has booked them both into the spa up the road from where she lives. The guys there probably think the two of them are together, but Clint honestly doesn’t care. They’ll spa – because man does that feel good after months in the jungle – and then they’ll chat and eat ice cream and watch Die Hard while curled up on the couch. It’s gonna be epic. Clint can’t wait.

“She especially likes the one from the Ngorongoro Crater,” James interjects and there’s a sly tone to his voice.

Clint freezes and, for a split second, so does Natasha, before she regains her composure and shoots James a frown that says more than Clint can read right now.

Clint and Kate share a website and, because they’re professional adults, they’d wrote each other’s biographies, choosing the photos and everything. May had thought it was a terrible idea and added more professional biographies at the top of the website, but the bits they’d wrote are still up.

Clint’s bio says; _Clint Barton is a professional doofus with less awards than me. He lives in a nice place like a slob. I don’t know why I’m friends with him. He sucks._

The photo she’d picked was of him in the Ngorongoro Crater, shirtless and with a shrike nipping his ear.

“Um,” Clint says, managing to both look and not look at Natasha.

“Steve is a terrible influence on you,” she says lowly, scowling at James.

“Pfft,” James says, waving his hand vaguely. “I think you’ll find _I’m_ a bad influence on _him._ Don’t sell me short. Plus hot couples have ugly children. I’ll be vindicated down the line when my kids are better than yours.”

And that – that was not what Clint was expecting. Because that sort of implies… _nope, don’t. That way lies disappointment, Barton_. So of course, in an attempt to wrench his mind away from _that,_ Clint puts his foot in it. “I think you’re plenty hot enough.”

There’s stunned and vaguely awkward silence.

“Well,” James says as Natasha snorts out a laugh. “Then we can hook up and Natashenka can be jealous of _us_. Well, me.”

Um.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Natasha says tightly, mirth suddenly absent from her posture, “will you please shut the fuck up.”

“Fine, fine,” James grumps. “Don’t gang up on the one-armed guy. I’ve had no good entertainment for _months_ while you were gone. So hey, how about we go to that Turkish place you like Nat? It’s been a while since we went there.”

Clint looks between the two of them, confusion cutting through the swoopy feeling in his stomach.

“I thought you’d never been to New York before?” he says to Natasha, because that’s definitely the impression he’d got through their extensive WhatsApp conversations.

“Um…” Natasha says, just as James says, “Are you kidding me? I’m _from_ New York. We’ve visited my sister here only a million times. Natashenka, have you been _deceiving_ this man? That’s not very nice.”

At that, James stands up and makes an aborted gesture that implies he tried to pick up his coffee with his now missing arm before grumbling, grabbing for his coffee again, and chivvying them out of their chairs.

“C’mon,” he says, slinging his arm around Clint’s shoulders in a much friendlier gesture than Clint would have expected, his coffee dangling by Clint’s arm. “Turkish food. Come along Natashenka, I don’t have enough arms to hug you too, you’ll just have to keep up.”

Clint feels turned around – he wasn’t expecting James Barnes to be a whirlwind of personality; wasn’t expecting him to drop such horrible, hope-inducing _hints_. He wasn’t expecting Natasha's blushes or James’ teasing or any of this.

This day is turning out to be unexpected all over.

Nevertheless, James’ strange enthusiasm manages to dispel the awkwardness and eventually Clint manages to look at Natasha without blushing furiously. Which is probably a good thing as when they eventually arrive at the Turkish place and are given a table, James manages to manoeuvre it so Clint and Natasha are sitting opposite each other. There’s a candle and everything; it’d be date-like if it wasn’t for James happily chatting about filters and exposure times next to them.

“So hey,” James says turning to Clint, “May’s your agent as well, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Clint replies, grasping at anything that stops his brain snagging on the shadow in the hollow of Natasha’s throat. “She’s brilliant. Give her a list of your top ten places to shoot and she’ll do her damnedest to get you to all of them. She got me and Kate the amazing NatGeo Himalaya spread.”

“I saw that one; I was so jealous. Hey, you think she could get me – and Nat if possible – onto something with snow leopards?”

Clint looks over at Natasha.

“So you’re not all cold water and dark caves then?” he says.

She smiles small. “Not always, no. And I’ve never shot big cats. I mean, it’s not my speciality, but I’d love to try.”

“May could probably wing it for you,” Clint replies, aware that he’s sort of ignoring James now and just talking directly to Natasha. “It’s how Kate got jaguars in the Amazon. I didn’t realise it would be now but… I was super happy for her. Plus, _toucans_. Toucans are the shit. And quetzals. Man, I would love to shoot quetzals. Did you know they have the longest tail feathers in relation to their bodies of any bird in the world?”

Natasha's smile gets softer at his enthusiasm.

“You and birds,” she says teasing. “Fly boy.”

And Clint flushes, the tension back with a vengeance.

“So hey,” James interjects, startling them out of the weird staring match they’ve found themselves in. “You crazy kids order – I need to piss.” And he unceremoniously ups and leaves for the bathroom.

Clint watches him go.

“Um. He is really not what I was expecting.”

Natasha's gaze follows James as he weaves between the tables.

“Seeing Steve has been good for him,” she says softly. “Steve’s girlfriend Peggy works with Vets. She’s fantastic, not tiptoeing around the whole arm thing.”

Clint cringes slightly. “Yeah, it’s… I keep messing up. It’s… I dunno. Weird.”

She smiles sympathetically at him. “You’ve been great, don’t worry.”

Clint lets his gaze drift around the room before finally settling on Natasha again. Her lipstick has faded after talking for so long and he suddenly notes the tiny flicks of eyeliner that make her eyelashes look longer somehow. Her hair looks a little frazzled and her shirt clings to the tops of her breasts, which he notices even though he tries not to.

Clint opens his mouth to say something, though he’s not sure what it’s going to be – something stupid no doubt – but Natasha beats him to the punch.

“Look. I – I got some tickets to Wildlife Photographer of the Year at the Museum of Natural History.” She’s fiddling with the corner of her napkin, her gaze darting around like she can’t quite settle on any one thing. “You know, an after-hours sort of thing. A friend of mine swung it for me. Do you – would you like to come with me? It’s – we could have dinner after or – or something. If you want.”

She looks apprehensive, Clint realises, like she thinks there’s a chance he’d say no. Which – what?

Clint’s mouth works for a moment, no sound making it past his lips. Because that… “That sounds like a date,” he manages eventually, stupidly.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees James coming back, spot them, do the most overdramatic about-face, and head off to flirt with the waitress behind the bar instead.

“Only if you say yes,” Natasha says, her smile this small brittle thing that throws Clint so far for a loop that he feels like he’s fallen into some bizarre parallel universe. “If you don’t, it’s a…” – she waves her hand in a _you know_ sort of gesture – “consolation prize. Or… or something.”

“Why would I say no?” Clint asks, genuinely baffled.

“Well, you haven’t said yes yet,” Natasha answers and Clint realises that yes, he is in fact that stupid.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says emphatically, too quickly, probably too loudly. “I – yes. Absolutely.” But then he falters again because… because she’s just –

“Are you – ?”

He can’t quite finish the question though, because Natasha hardly ever does things she’s not sure of and doubting her now seems almost counterintuitive. On the other hand, he never even thought to hope he had a chance.

Natasha blushes slightly, looking down and away before meeting his eyes again.

“What’s my favourite colour?” she asks softly, like she’s hoping for something but isn’t sure she can have it.

“What?” he asks reflexively. Talk about out of left field.

Natasha doesn’t repeat her question though, she just keeps looking at him, and her foot probably-by-accident-but-all-things-considered-maybe-not gently knocks against his ankle.

“Sky blue,” he blurts out, because she told him this once while on the night shoot in Guilin, whispered out of the side of her mouth like it was silly and not worth listening to. “But – but not summer sky. The… midnight blue, blue before black, when it looks like velvet and the stars are like diamonds and it’s cold and clear and – ” and he’s paying so much attention to her slowly widening smile that he misses the part where she leans over the table to press her lips against his, scraping her chair across the floor and knocking her knife off the table.

“Yes,” she says, inches from his face. “I’m sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> The photo Clint chose of Kate is of her just after she’d fallen into a pool, wet from head to toe and laughing hysterically. His bio of her says; _Kate Bishop is okay, I guess_.


End file.
